


Wrong Room

by Anonymous



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Anal Sex, Being Walked In On, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-18
Updated: 2020-01-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:54:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22303714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: John's first clue that he was in the wrong roomshouldhave been that Karkat and Dave were here. But, y'know, it's late.
Relationships: Dave Strider/Karkat Vantas
Comments: 4
Kudos: 115
Collections: Anonymous





	Wrong Room

**Author's Note:**

> this is what happens when you havent even thought of homestuck in over six years. i've forgotten everything. the setting is vaguely canon? there was a timeskip on the meteor wasnt there? everybody is of age

It’s hard to keep track of all these stupid doors and which ones lead to which rooms. It’s worse in the dark, where the only light source is a pale, sickly green that washes everything out and leaves half a room in shadow, every room looking exactly the same. It’s easy to get lost, and John is half-asleep, confused already just by being upright and on his feet.

The first clue that he opened the wrong door should have been the absence of the familiar annoying squeak of the door hinge. It opens silently, the turn of the knob smooth and quiet, not even a rasp of the bottom of the door brushing over tile or carpet. There’s another dim light in the room, just like in his, that washes over a sofa in the same place as the one in his.

There is someone on the sofa. They let out a harsh breath and John instantly knows it’s Karkat, knows that lung capacity, knows that hiss through dull fangs. It should have been a clue that he is in Karkat’s quarters and not his own, but John is tired, and all these fucking rooms look the same, so his first assumption is that Karkat is the one who’s in the wrong room.

The green light makes the expanse of Karkat’s bare grey back glow like a pale tombstone in moonlight. There are vivid welts and lines in weird angles screaming across the skin between his shoulder blades. The hour is late, and John has the unwilling thought that he never figured Karkat went shirtless in the night. He hopes he’s wearing pajama pants at least, for when John can clear the sleep from his voice and tell Karkat to get lost and go back to his own room. He wants to be able to look at him over breakfast without seeing some sort of alien wang for the rest of his life whenever he closes his eyes. 

He hears another noise, distinctly un-Karkatlike but just as much air without voice as the sigh from before. He places the noise as one of Dave’s just as he sees a white arm curl around Karkat’s back, pearly in the dull green glow. An arm around Karkat’s scratched back, a hand in the black hair, gripping tight. John can see the veins in the back of Dave’s hands, a strain in the embrace. 

What the fuck are Karkat and Dave  _ both  _ doing in John’s room? Having some kind of hushed heart-to-heart on John’s couch, emotional bro-embrace and everything? John’s eyeglasses are smudged. He wipes them on his shirt as he shuffles closer, annoyed and exhausted, ready to tell them to get their rooms straight and their feelings sorted and beat it, god damn. 

Then he hears Dave’s soft voice, not an awkward mumble, but a hitching, “oh—please jesus what the  _ fuck— _ ”

And then Karkat: “YEAH?” His voice is low but the caps lock is there, always aggressive and always obnoxious.

John comes closer, bemused, pushing his glasses back into place. He stops behind the couch, looking down, and freezes.

Karkat  _ is _ wearing pants, kind of. His jeans are shoved down to his knees, scrunched and messy, and John balks at the flash of his fucking  _ ass crack _ before it’s obscured by a bare leg—an ankle—two ankles, crossing behind Karkat, Dave’s long bare legs wrapped around his waist. There’s so much skin, stark and weird in the ugly light, Karkat’s shirt completely missing and Dave’s rucked up his chest and bunched around his collarbones—his sunglasses are  _ gone _ , his face on display for John to see and it feels like he’s seeing something he shouldn’t be seeing, Dave’s eyes shut tight and his eyebrows angled up almost like he’s in pain, but there’s patches of color in his cheeks and his mouth is open, his lips glistening—

Karkat’s teeth are in Dave’s neck, and then they’re not, and then they are again because Karkat is biting him in other places, leaving livid red marks in his teeth’s wake, spots that shine damp when Dave throws his head back to bare more of his throat. 

Dave is wearing nothing from the waist down, his body flush with Karkat’s. John sees his red briefs hanging haphazardly from his ankle locked at the small of Karkat’s back and—Karkat _moves_ , a shifting of his body driving him closer between Dave’s legs with a terrible noise that is _wet._ Goosebumps erupt all over John’s skin at the sound of it, and the noise Dave makes in response. 

“i’m so close,” Dave moans, “c’mon, c’mon—”

“FUCK. THAT’S IT.” John follows the line of Karkat’s arm, where it disappears between his stomach and Dave’s. The rapid movement of it is unmistakable, the filthy sound of desperate skin-on-skin even more so.

“what are you guys  _ doing? _ ” John’s voice flies out of him like a rocket, aghast and—and—he doesn’t even  _ know _ what else, his body too hot and his brain full of static.

He watches the tangle of them jolt, hears Dave gasp wildly, watches his fingernails draw blood at Karkat’s back. Karkat’s spine is painfully rigid in shock, and one of his hands grips the back of the couch hard enough to rip into the upholstery. 

“JOHN, WHAT THE FUCK!” he screams, hoarse and sweating. His eyes are wild as he cranes his head to glare at him. 

“oh fuck,” Dave groans. John can’t tell in this light what color his eyes are—he’s never seen them—but they’re open and shining and shocked and his expression is something John has never seen before. Surely never thought he’d see it on his best friend’s face. 

Karkat sits back and John has the image seared into his brain of the space between Dave’s legs, glistening with something slick  _ inside _ his ass and his cock—Dave’s cock, his best friend’s fucking  _ dick _ —hard and twitching against his pale belly, Karkat’s grey hand wrapped firmly around it. The tip of it is wet and dark.

“are you guys fucking?!” John splutters, and he won’t realize until much later how stupid this had to have sounded to them. 

“GET THE FUCK OUT!!!” Karkat shrieks.

But then Dave, Jesus Christ it’s  _ Dave _ , his back  _ arches _ , his nipples red and peaked, and his voice sounds desperate and pained and a little bit like he’s about to cry as he stutters out and utterly helpless, “john—karkat—fuck—“

He comes then. He comes right then, right there, his cock throbbing with each release of it, his abdomen heaving and clenching with the force of it as he gasps and whines. It’s white and messy and hot as it trickles over Karkat’s fingers—which are  _ still moving _ up and down his length!—and John finally takes a step back. His ears are ringing.

“sorry!” he says jerkily. He backs towards the door. “wrong room i guess!!!”


End file.
